


spot

by orphan_account



Series: written in the stars [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Agender Character, Agender Frances, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, Hipster!Phil, Poetry, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, hipster!frances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Theo never made any attempt to reach out to her soulmate.
 
(Whatever is on one person's body shows up on the other.)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Another Philtheo soulmate AU bc I am tRaSh!!!!!
> 
> I meant to post this a while ago, but I am concussed (recovering from a concussion? still concussed? idk) and looking at screens for extended periods of time is painful.

Theo never made any attempt to reach out to her soulmate. She didn't feel the need to, when he stained her fingers with ink, her arms with notes, or, sometimes, her cheeks with the occasional lipstick mark, and she reciprocated with paint stains on her hands and doodles on her legs.

She had these little constants in her life that made her feel connected to him, which was all she needed.

No, she never reached out to him, and he never said anything to her.

Until, one day, the tattoo appeared.

Theo didn't even notice it at first. It wasn't until she went out with friends one night, wearing a shirt with large cutouts in the back.

They had been in line for the single stall bathroom for a few minutes when Georges gasped suddenly.

"Theo," he said, a mix of surprised and impressed. "When did you get a tattoo?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "G,  I don't have a tattoo, I think I would know."

He gasped. "Your soulmate, then? It must be!" He ran his fingers over her left shoulder blade, and she shivered involuntarily.

"What is it?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"A constellation," he replied. "The Big Dipper? Very understated and classy. He's definitely artsy."

She laughed as he took a picture and showed it to her. He was right, it was beautiful, and some of her anxiety about him left her.

The next night found Theo in a hipster coffee shop that she had no trouble believing Frances patronized regularly, with their beanies and ukulele proficiency.

Speaking of  Frances, Theo was only here because they insisted, but now they were nowhere to be found. Theo sighed. That was just like them. Unexpectedly, however, they sat down across from her after a few minutes.

"What's going on?" Theo asked, eyebrow cocked, wary of her friend's expression.

"Oh, nothing," they replied, their eager face betraying their off-hand, casual tone. "I just want to see your face the first time you see-"

They were cut off by the roar of the crowd as a guy jogged on stage.

"Hey hey to all you guys, gals, and nonbinary pals tonight, welcome to Slam Poetry Night!" There were more cheers, and the MC grinned again.

His long hair was tied up in a bun, his face had been _painted_ with freckles by some divine force, and he was wearing a red and black buffalo check shirt with black jeans so tight they should have been illegal.

Theo was intrigued.

She spent most of the night paying attention to him. He glowed onstage, clearly a crowd favorite, laughing and chatting with the audience as a collective whole. _Not to mention he was incredibly attractive_ , Theo thought, before scolding herself. _He's not your soulmate, don't even go there._

After everyone had gone, he resumed his place at the microphone.

"Alright, everyone," he said. "I've got a new poem for you all tonight-" he was cut off by the loudest cheers yet.

Frances leaned across the table. "He's amazing at poetry," they whispered, and Theo nodded in understanding.

"Alright everyone, here we go," he grinned, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up.

Theo froze in her seat.

On the fingertips of his right hand, there were smudges of black and dark blue ink. Theo dismissed it as a coincidence, until she saw the underside of his left arm.

There, for all to see, was the white blotch of paint Theo had accidentally left on her own arm.

_Shit._

Up on stage, he spoke again. "Alright, this one's called Spot. Let's go!

"There's a spot on my wrist  
That I never left.

It rests in the curve,  
Warm brown.  
Looks like paint.  
I scrub, nothing happens.  
It's hers.

There is a note on my arm  
That I never wrote.

It says "buy milk," but my sister just did  
And I haven't had any  
Since I was twelve.  
Suddenly,  
I am thirsty.

There is a picture on my thigh  
That I never drew.

A sketch of a squirrel  
With an acorn bigger than its head.  
I laugh,  
And have a new favorite animal.

Marks on my body  
That feel like a part of me.  
I retaliate with stanzas I have yet to write companions to  
And love from my mother because  
I want to give this girl everything  
And she needs it more than me.

So much love invested  
In a person I have yet to meet.  
I stain my fingers with ink in my attempts  
To pen my feelings for her  
But they are so much bigger  
Than I can describe.

So I will leave her  
Something permanent  
To show my devotion  
Is larger than all the stars."

As soon as Theo realizes what's happening, her hand flies to her mouth in shock and remains there for the rest of the poem.

He is met with thunderous applause, but Theo is frozen, unable to do anything. Frances notices her and leans across the table.

"What's wrong?" they ask.

"He's my soulmate," Theo replies. "He's my soulmate and he wrote that about me and I don't even know his name."

Frances fucking _laughs_ , a clear sound ringing out in the coffee shop, and it calms Theo, if only a little. It's something familiar (Frances laughs at her a lot) and provides something to anchor herself with.

Frances distracts her with arbitrary conversation until the throng of people around him dissipates.

"You good?" Frances asks, and Theo nods, before making her way to where he stands. He's just finished talking to the last fan, and she extends a hand for him to shake.

"Hey-" he begins to say, cut off immediately when he sees his right hand reaching for Theo's, how the spots and smudges mirror each other exactly.

"Wow," he breathes, tearing his gaze from their hands to her face. "Wow. I'm sorry about the poem, if it made you uncomfortable, or the tattoo, I'll get it removed if you want-"

She laughs, and he is visibly calmed.

"Don't worry," she tells him. "I liked the poem, very much. And the tattoo, well, now that I know the reasoning behind it, I like it even more.

He grins, full of sunshine, then cocks his head in a way that nearly makes Theo sob because _he's so cute_ and then he asks "Can I kiss you?"

"Please do," she breathes, and his strong hands find her waist and pull her in close and he is kissing her and it's all she's ever wanted and more and her hands go up to his face and neither of them has any idea how long they've been there but they don't care.

"I'm Philip," he whispers once they pull away, his breath tickling her lips.

"Theo," she replies, and he grins.

"Wanna go back to my place?"

Frances had to take the subway home by themself.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to continue this!! idk where to go with it, tho. the notes they exchanged over the years? what happens next? please tell me in the comments!!

Laying in Philip's bed the next morning, not completely awake, Theo reached for his hand.

He stirred in his sleep, fingers twining in hers, before stilling again.

She smiled and moved her head from the pillow under her head to the one under his.

///

Not too long after, he woke up, long arms stretching, baring the expanses of his tan skin, muscles rippling, and damn it if that didn't make Theodosia want to take him back to bed.

Instead, he pulled two clean t-shirts out of his drawer (one for each of them) and took her to his favorite cafe for some breakfast.

There, over black coffee with a muffin (her) and tea with buckwheat pancakes (him), they began to talk about all the things they hadn't gotten the chance to the night before.

"With one of my dads, it's weird," Philip said. "Some people, their handwriting will show up on him sometimes and disappear, and vice versa. But with my pops, it's a constant. They've always been matched. My biological mom showed up on him once, but she wasn't about that, and now she and her wife are best friends with my dads."

"My mom was living with another guy," Theo replied. "The night he was gonna propose, my dad showed up, and she left the guy for him. They were happy, but she died when I was eleven."

"I'm sorry," he told her, and normally she didn't like hearing that, but he looked so earnest that she couldn't help but believe him. 

"It's okay," she said honestly, reaching for his hand across the table.

They sat there for a while, warmed by the sun.

Normally, Theo didn't like silences. They made her feel restless, like she needed to fill them. Right then, however, was the only exception she could remember. Philip was the only person she felt truly content with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny story:   
> i have a philtheo oneshot (go read it plz!!!) where philip breaks his leg on christmas. well, my brother's halfway around the world and can't come home, and then called us to say that he fell and broke his arm. just a parallel i thought might be appreciated. 
> 
> happy holidays!!

**Author's Note:**

> With Philip's tattoo, I kinda pictured it connecting freckles to form the big dipper?? idk do what you want.


End file.
